If By Chance
by GirlquinndreameR
Summary: The negocitator has been given a new case to find the wherabouts of a mysterious boy. Angel leads his investigation to a party where the secret is revealed RA or RD? u decide


If By Chance

            Paradigm City stood as it did every day.  Morning had come a few hours ago.  Our negotiator slumbered peacefully without a trace of dreams.  All was serene...

            Until...

            A fast wave of sounds hit his ears, sending him to his true surroundings.  He curled under his sheet, praying the noise will go away.  He thought he would be used to it by now...but never.  Not in a million years.  He jumped out of bed, out of his room, and bolted down the hall to the living room.  There, sat his alarm clock.

            Dorothy.  R. Dorothy Wayneright tapped the ivory keys rapidly, her hands flying across the white and black tiles.  Many, many, many times he thought of breaking that piano into a heap of wood.  But it was such a lovely grand piano.  Dorothy played, her eyes in a glazed stare.  There was no music sheet in front of her.  It was as if she was playing a song from a program in her brain.  Maybe that was it.  Dorothy tilted her head to the doorway. "Good morning Roger."

            " 'Good?'" Roger shook his head. "Not likely."

            "Your breakfast is getting cold."

            He stood there, massaging his right temple.  It wasn't as if her playing was terrible.  On the contrary, it was quite good.  Her skill on the ivories was very good.  But that was all she had.  She lacked the depth that would make her excellent.  Could he truly blame her?  She is a creation after all.

            "You would think the good, old doctor would have programmed consideration in you," Roger commented, referring to her creator, Dr. Wayneright.

            The android looked up to him as he approached her.  "I do have consideration.  I don't use it towards fashion less louts such as yourself."

            There she goes again, commenting on his sense of style.  So what if he always wore black?

            "You still don't get it," Roger sighed, almost exasperated. "You can't imitate us.  Things like music aren't programs.  There is so much more than just the right keys at the right time.  Right now, it just sounds like a jumble of notes."

            Dorothy looked away, back to the piano in front of her. "Someday, Roger, the music will be gone and you would want it back."

            "The day you stop playing will be music to my ears," Roger muttered under his breath.

            Just yesterday, a Mrs. Master came to the negotiator, hoping that he could help her.  She gave him a picture of a young boy; it was odd though...one side of the picture was tattered and ripped.  It was as if it was a part of something.  Nevertheless, she wanted him to find out who he was because she believed that he was her brother.

            He sat, not knowing where to start.

            Then the phone rang.  Roger picked up the receiver off the cradle, and held it against his ear.  "Roger Smith," he introduced himself.

            "Mr. Smith? This is Helen Master," the voice on the phone said.  "Have you found the boy yet?"            

            "I do have some leads but nothing is quite concrete," Roger deliberately lied.  It slipped out and it was too late to take it back.  Oh well, sooner or later, he would find something.  "I'll call you back when I have something."

            "Ok. All right then.  Please hurry." She hung up.

            Roger replaced the phone back in its cradle.  He took a sip of his chardonnay and sat back slowly.  Just then, he heard the staccato sounds of shoes on his hard wood floor.  He turned his head slightly towards the direction of the elevator shaft.

            "Hello Mr. Negotiator."

            That voice.  It was Heaven's deadliest weapon.

            Angel.

            "How should I address you? Patricia Lovejoy? Is that what it is now?" Roger took another sip.

            "Angel would be more correct."

            "Whatever you like. So, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Roger turned around to see his golden hair visitor.  She pulled the sunglasses off her heart-shaped face, revealing her indescribable beauty.  Roger gave her that much.

            "I have a proposition," Angel declared. "I understand you have a new case but no leads."

            "Why would you say that?"

            "It's dead in the afternoon and you're not investigating," Angel smiled.

            "Maybe so.  Why is it important for you?" Roger watched Angel approach his side as he remained on his couch.

            "I can help you, if you like.  Do you want to learn more about the boy?" Angel asked, pointing to his picture laying on the coffee table.

            "Why would you help me? Out of the goodness of your heart?" Roger chuckled sarcastically,

            "Then I will tell Mrs. Master all I know because I know the exact source to find him," Angel settled on the armrest next to him.  "Will you let me help you now?"  
            Roger looked up at her, one eyebrow arched up. "How can I refuse?"

            "Good.  Pick me up at seven and dress accordingly," she handed him a small card.

            You are cordially invited to the birthday gathering of Bartholomew Nelson.

          Time: 7:30 pm       Place: Nelson mansion at the end of Christian Boulevard  

          Attire: formal 

          "I look forward to our date," Angel leaned forward, saying it softly, almost in a whisper.

            Roger looked up at her.  Her eyes were deep, like empty voids.  The voids reminded him like the minds of all who took residence in the city.  She was an enigma to him and he wondered if there was a solution.  It was as if she challenged him and he didn't know whether to take it as a meddling puzzle or as an attraction.

            A clatter interrupted his thoughts.  The elevator door opened and Dorothy stepped out.  "Roger, Norman has prepared tea."

            "Oh...yes," Roger turned to Angel. "Would you like to join us?"

            "I'm sorry, I must be leaving now.  See you tonight," Angel walked herself towards the elevator and stepped inside, passing Dorothy.

            "What did she want?" Dorothy asked Roger.

            He stood up and headed towards her.  "Just a business proposition I have to perform tonight.  Nothing to worry about."

            "Will you be having dinner here?" Dorothy asked another question.

            "I suppose not, Dorothy.  I will tell Norman." The elevator returned. "Shall we?" Together, they stepped in and headed upwards.

            Roger adjusted his black tie, straightening the knot.  As he looked at himself in the full-length mirror, he spotted Dorothy standing in the doorway. "Where exactly are you going?" she asked.

            "To a party."

            "With Angel?"

            "Yes."

            "In that?"  
            Roger gave Dorothy a look.  "What's wrong with a suit?"

            "It looks like the same thing you wear everyday," Dorothy declared.  Sure enough, he was in his full, typical attire: black pants, jacket and tie.

            "Well, it is proper formal attire," Roger said.

            "It's hideously boring," Dorothy remarked.  "Quite monotone, and completely disinteresting."

            "All right, all right," I get the point," he laughed.

            Dorothy turned and walked away.

            The Griffon pulled up to a large condominium complex.  As Roger stepped out and walked around the car to the other side, a woman stepped out of the revolving doors.  Roger eyed his Angel, dressed in a tight fitting gray dress, a white shawl, pale pink gloves and black sandals.  Her hair was pulled back in a french twist with the ends of her hair in ringlets.  She was an extraordinary vision for his eyes.

            "Good evening, Roger Smith," she smiled at him.

            He stumbled out of his slight trance. "Hello, Angel." Roger opened the passenger side door, allowing her to enter.  When she sat down, he closed the door, walked to the other side of the car and sat in the driver's seat.  He started the Griffon and headed towards the mansion.

            "I must compliment you on your tie," Angel started. "I would never have thought you were capable of wearing other colors."

            Roger cleared his throat, adjusting the knot of his red tie.  "Yes, well, I'm open for change...every once in a while."

            "It does look good. How could your mind be possibly influenced?" Angel placed a finger on her chin, in thought. "Is it Norman?"

            "No."

            "Then is it that girl who lives with you?"

            "Dorothy, you mean?"

            "Yes. Is it?"  
            "He shrugged. "She says I have no fashion sense whatsoever.  It doesn't offend me enough to change."

            "Hmm..." she opened her purse and pulled out her compact to look at herself.  "Maybe you wanted to impress me..."

            "Don't flatter yourself," Roger smiled.

            "You never know, Roger."

            He glanced at her, a small smile curled on his face.  Angel was incredibly beautiful tonight compared to the times he usually saw her, in a pink blazer and skirt.  "Perhaps," he said simply.

            The ride was long and annoyingly quiet.

            The lights from the outside scanned the sky.  Roger took sips of the champagne that was offered to him.  He had been at the party for quite some time now and still could not point of Bartholomew Nelson from the crowd.  The idea was slightly aggravating.  To make things more difficult, Angel has disappeared from sight ½ an hour ago.  Why did she persuade him to come here?  And what does this have to do with Mrs. Master?  
            The pianist's work was heard even from the balcony on which he stood.  It was the beautiful sound of a human tickling the ivories.  It held a strong sense of uniqueness and beauty.  Now, if Dorothy could play like that...

            "Roger? Why are you here all by yourself?" came Angel's voice from behind him.

            "Nothing. Just looking at the night..." was Roger's respond although only the glass dome was visible.

            "Well, then, dance with me," Angel approached him, took the glass from him and set it down on the railing. He placed one hand on her back while she placed her hand on his shoulder.  Their remaining hands joined and they flowed to the magic of the music.

            "This is quite interesting. I never danced with an angel before."

            "Are you always this witty?"

            "I try.  So, how did you get a invitation?" Roger asked.

            "Random luck," Angel shrugged.  "To tell you the truth, I don't think there is an actual guest list.  Mr. Nelson is known for holding lavishing parties and _anyone_ who heard about it will come.  I guess it's a twisted way to live the rich life for a few hours."

            "I see...so what have you been doing for the past ½ hour?" Roger inquired.

            A smile curled on her face. "Were you worried about me?"

            "Curious would be more correct." 

            "Just walked around, trying to get acquainted with the place."

            He shook his head. "Snooping around, huh?"

            "At least I found a few things for you."

            "So," Roger finally asked, "Why did you bring me here?"  
            "Because of your case," Angel answered.  

            "I thought you just needed a date," Roger chuckled.  "All you had to do was ask."

            "Really?" Angel smiled at the thought. "The two of us? On a date?"

            "Isn't this what it is?"

            "Maybe it's business and pleasure," Angel said.  

            "I guess so." Then Roger finally asked, "So, what does this party have to do with Mrs. Master?"

            "Do you have the picture?" she asked.

            "Yes." 

            The song ended.

            Angel stepped back from his arms. "Then come with me."

            The main gala room was swarmed with scattered people, dressed with fancy clothes and slightly buzzed of champagne.  Roger and Angel snaked their way through the crowd, trying to find the way to the grand staircase.  They casually walked up the stairs and entered a dark room to the first left.

            Bookshelves stood against the dark walls like towers.  Lounge couches sat quietly and a lonely oak desk waited quietly in front of a large window.  Angel headed to behind the desk, turned on the green desk lamp, and started shuffling through the drawers.

            "So...this is how you dig up memories?" Roger asked, watching her shuffle through all types of documents.

            "It gets the job done," Angel continued to rummage. "Where are...yes!" she said in triumph.  She found, at the bottom of the center drawer, an envelope browned with age.  She opened it, revealing all types of notes and pictures.  "See, he has letters dated over 40 years ago.  This man is different compared to the others in this city."

            "How is that possible?" Roger asked as he flipped through some letters. "Who is this 'Feny' person? An old lover?"

            Angel turned the envelope upside down, emptying all its contents.

            "The last letter he received was in 1959," Roger noticed. "40 years ago..."

            "Roger..." Angel's voice was disconnected.  She held out a picture of a girl.  It had a side that was tattered and ripped.  Roger dug in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the photo of the boy.  He held the picture of the boy next to the picture of the girl: perfect fit.

            The image was of a girl and boy, holding hands.  They looked not a day older than 15.

            "They...fit," Angel realized. "This must be Mr. Nelson and Feny..."

            "Most likely...but who is Feny?" Roger asked. "And why would Mrs. Mater have a picture of...unless..." Roger trailed off.

            "What?"  
            "I need to speak to this Bartholomew Nelson.  I have a few questions I need to ask," Roger declared.

            "Then go ahead," Angel looked up and Roger soon followed.  At the doorway stood Bartholomew Nelson himself, his figure creating a lanky shadow on the floor.

            "What are you doing here?" Bartholomew barked.

            "Actually, I have some questions for you," Roger held the two pictures in his hand.

            "I asked you a question, so you should be polite enough to answer."

            "Very well.  My name is Roger Smith." He extended his hand.

            Bartholomew disregarded it. " 'Roger the Negotiator'? I've heard of you.  What business do you have here?"

            "Is this you?" Roger held out ½ of the picture; the one of the boy.

            Bartholomew went pale.  "Where...did...you get that?"

            "A Mrs. Helen Master called me.  She found this picture and she wanted me to find this boy."

            "She did, did she?"

            "Are you aware of the Event that happened to this city 40 years ago, Mr. Nelson?" Roger continued his investigation.  He must get to the bottom of this.  Roger had a job to do.

            "I am."

            "Then it seems as if you didn't lose your memory like the others."

            "I didn't.  I lived somewhere else for a while."

            "I see..." Roger shrugged. "She hired me to find the boy...and I did."

            "No you won't!" Bartholomew exclaimed.

            "But--."

            "Please! I beg you not to tell her!" Bartholomew pleaded. 

            "And why shouldn't I?" Roger asked. "She asked--."

            "But...she's happy...a stable life..." Bartholomew hung his head and began to weep slowly.

            The piano melodies ended and Roger wanted to hear more.  It chilled him and he wanted it back.

            The ride in the Griffon was unbearably silent.  Roger glance over to his companion every now and then, noticing her gazing out the window and gently tapping her chin, as if she was in thought.  The streetlights ran across her face and Roger could not help but note something about her was intriguing.

            The Griffon slowly pulled up in front of her condominium building.  Both remained in their seats, not uttering a word or making a move.  After long moments, Roger was the first to speak.  "You knew, didn't you?"

            A soft smile curled on her face. "I attended one of his parties before."

            "Alone?"

            "Yes."

            "So, if you went to one of his parties before, why did you ask me to come?"

            "Because we both benefited.  You got your information while I had a date."

            "A date? Is that all you really wanted?" Roger asked, not sure whether to believe her. "You would have gone with any other man or me in particular?"

            Angel let out a small giggle. "That is what you'll never know.  Besides, would you have accepted, had it not been for your case?"

            Roger shrugged. "You never know..."

            Angel opened the door and stepped out.  She slammed the door shut and propped her elbows on the window opening, peering in. "Good night, Roger." She blew him a kiss and stepped back.

            "Good night," Roger smiled back, watched her as she entered the building and drove away.

            He began to wonder for the next time he was going to see her.  Whether he wanted her company or not, it didn't matter.  He was curious...he wasn't sure why.

            The house was dead silent.  It was slightly passed midnight and only the ticking clocks softly echoed in the house.

            Roger found the patio door opened.  He looked outside and found Dorothy, staring at the sky.  She stood; wearing the coat he gave her for Heaven's Day.  Her thin figure stood alone in the night.  "What are you doing out here?" Roger asked.

            Dorothy stiffly turned her head. "Did you just arrive home?" 

            "Yes."

            "Did you enjoy the party?"

            "It was...educational."

            "Why would you say that?"

            Roger pulled himself tot he railing and sat on it. "Have you ever read the book called The Great Gatsby?" Dorothy gave him a blank look so he further explained.  "Gatsby and Daisy were a young couple.  She was a rich girl unlike him.  Soon after they met, he had to leave to fight in a war.  When he returned, Daisy was married to a rich man, though their marriage was rough, she stayed with him. However, Gatsby would not give up: he earned money to but a large mansion, held open parties and lived in a spot where he could be close to Daisy.  Gatsby truly believed that he and Daisy were meant to be.

            "I attended a party of Bartholomew Nelson.  He and a girl, named Feny Hales, fell in love but he had to move away.  Then the Event occurred and she forgot all about him, and changed her name to Helen Fay.  Helen Fay eventually became Helen Master; then Nelson came back.

            "Gatsby did whatever he could to be with Daisy.  However, unlike Gatsby, Mr. Nelson saw that Helen was a taken woman and she has been well accustomed to her life.  HE doesn't want to take it away from her."

            "If he loves her, doesn't he want to be with her?" Dorothy asked.

            "That maybe some views.  In his view, if she is happy with what she's doing now, he doesn't want to take that happiness from her."

            She stared at him for a few moments. "He shows he loves her by leaving her alone?"

            Roger lifted his eyebrows, taken back by her simplicity of words.  "Even humans don't understand love."

            "To show love is to make the other person happy," Dorothy snapped. "What's hard to understand?" She began to walk away but turned around.  "Roger?"

            "Yes?"  
            "If I lost my memory, would you try to find me and help me get my memory back?" Dorothy asked.

            Roger squirmed uncomfortably.  Every time she brought up a "what if" scenario, he grew nervous.  She once asked him if they lost their memories, would they fall in love? He was obviously uneasy for a response and he displayed the same anxiety just now.  He didn't know why.  Roger had this strange feeling, like a knot being tied in his stomach.  And still...no matter how often it occurred, he didn't know how to handle it.  While she awaited his answer, he began to stutter. "Uh...um...I'm not sure on...that, uh, I don't know..."

            "Humans are quite strange," Dorothy said. "Maybe too strange."

            "Well, who know, I guess," Roger vaguely answered.

            "I would leave you alone," Dorothy admitted.

            Roger locked eyes with her. "You would?"  
            "If I can tell you are happy, yes, I would."

            Roger looked at the android in a different light.  Something different was about her tonight.  She looked the same, acted the same, talked the same...but something was different.  It was a good feeling that Roger Smith felt inside.  In her eyes was a light and for a second, just one small second...he saw a sign of humanity.

            "Good night Roger," Dorothy entered the house, leaving Roger by himself on the patio.

            Sunlight slowly peaked through the window onto Roger's bedroom floor.  It was a pure orange light.  Roger laid, his blanket pulled over his body from head to toe.  Last night, something struck him unexpectedly. Why?

            "If I can tell you are happy, yes, I would."

            Dorothy was incredible. She was indeed.  She, somehow, got to him.  How and why...he had no idea.  Then, if so, could she actually be slightly human? Just a little? She showed consideration to him...yes...that's a sign of humanity, so maybe...

            A blast of fast, rapid piano keys filled the house.  Roger cringed and groaned in frustration.  "Maybe not..." he grumbled.

            Just another morning in the Smith household...

_...Fin..._

_(Note: I do not own "Big-O" or their characters.  I borrowed them for this story.  Yatta-yatta...)___


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